


No Tomorrows

by nobeforethat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobeforethat/pseuds/nobeforethat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please let me, Dean.”  Dean could never say no. Even if it wasn’t really his brother asking him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Tomorrows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meus_venator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/gifts).



> Gift for meus_venator for the spn_j2_xmas exchange. Best wishes!

It was cold.

Somewhere, water was dripping. One-two-one-two-one-two. A harsh, metallic scent stuck in his nostrils. Silence, but for the dripping.

It was cold.

“You’re awake.”

He hadn’t heard anyone come in.

He tried not to react. Willed his eyes to remain closed. Forced his breath to remain consistent.

But his heart sped up.

“I can hear you, Dean. I can hear your heart.”

Steps, closer.

“You can stop pretending now.”

He couldn’t help it. He choked in a breath, a hitch, just a hitch, but it was enough, and a tear was running down his cheek, warm on his cold, sticky skin. His fists clenched, and he could feel his wrists weighed down. Shackles. The ground was sticky and wet and smelled like iron; he knew what he was lying on.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But he had never been able to say no to—

No. It wasn’t his brother now. The monster that used to be his brother. That was it.

But he still couldn’t say no.

He opened his eyes.

It was dark, dark enough that he could barely see the light glinting off of the chains that bound him, and the reflections off of the eyes that burned into him.

He didn’t know what he had expected. Blood-caked teeth, maybe. Sharpened nails. The oily, unwashed look that bloodsuckers seemed to favour.

He hadn’t expected the same. Same hair, too long, bangs in his eyes. A little paler, but that had been expected. It was the cold, calculating grace that betrayed what had happened.

“How’re you doing?” The murmur was soft, loving. A tone he’d only heard on cold winter nights, years ago, when they were both young and had curled around each other to stay warm when the heat turned off.

It was so far from that now that Dean almost laughed.

“How the fuck do you think I’m doing?” His voice was hollow, cracked. Broken in a way that he’d sworn he’d never be again, after Sam left for college. He should never have trusted his own word. It was worth as much as his father’s.

“It’s okay, Dean.” A sudden movement that Dean couldn’t follow, and he was right there, crouched in front of him and looking into his eyes. “I would never have let them hurt you.”

“Never have—“ Dean couldn’t resist this time; he chuckled, an empty sound. “I’m fucking chained to the wall, Sammy. I’m lying on a pool of blood from God knows how many people. And you think I’m worried about whether I’m hurt?”

Sam’s expression remained ambivalent. “It’s not the blood of innocent people, Dean.”

Dean huffed, disbelieving.

“You might not believe me, but I’m telling the truth.” Sam traced a pale finger across the floor and held it up. Thick, congealed blood smeared its surface. “I killed them.”

“And that makes them, what? Not innocent?”

“No. I killed the others.”

That gave Dean pause. Blood of the innocent, no. Blood of the others. The ones who had attacked them. Who had turned Sam.

“For what?” He forced his face into a sneer. “I thought they were your pack now. Your nest. That was why they wanted you all along. Why the fuck would you kill your new—”He forced himself to say it. “—family?”

Sam’s eyes softened. “They’ll never be family. You’re my family. You know that.”

Dean looked away. “Not anymore.”

He could imagine the look on Sam’s face. His lips dropping at the corners. His eyes downcast. His whole face, closing off, moving away, becoming distant.

That goddamn look broke his heart, all the fucking time.

“I’m still your brother.” Sam’s voice did it, what his look couldn’t. Dean clenched his teeth, but another tear managed to get past his closed eyelids.

“I still love you, Dean. Whatever you think I’ve done. I might be a monster, now, but I’m. I’m still your brother.”

Fuck, the voice. He couldn’t stand it.

“I know you came here to kill me.”

Sam was closer now. Dean could feel his breath on his cheek, smell the blood in it.

“You couldn’t do it, could you? Because you hesitated. And that’s why you’re here.”

Sam was standing over him, his black overcoat falling over his knees. There was a vampire joke in there somewhere, but Dean couldn’t think of it; there was only Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, no, Sammy—

He couldn’t move, even if he wanted to. His voice felt caught in his throat.

Sam was doing something to him. 

Sam dropped, suddenly, to his knees.

“I love you, Dean. I love you.”

Closer. The tickle of Sam’s too-long hair on his neck, his cheek.

“You might hate me. I don’t think you do. If you did, you would have tried to use the chains. But you didn’t. You don’t, do you, Dean?”

It was true. The chains weren’t short. Dean could have tried to strangle Sam, it he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t moved.

“I think you still love me too.”

Cold hands on his side, his neck, his cheek. Dean didn’t know why he wasn’t struggling. Sam’s skin was like ice, harsh and cold and unyielding, but his touch was soft, gentle. Dean shivered involuntarily.

A mouth at his ear.

“Do you?”

A shifting of weight, and then Dean felt Sam settling on his legs, fitting them together like two pieces of a whole. The warmth was being leeched out of him. Sam was so cold. So cold.

“Sammy.” His breath made white clouds in the air.

“Dean.” A fleeting smile, a knife’s edge, but the edge of an old, familiar knife. Sam’s hand found its way under his shirt; the other, around the back of his neck, caressing his face. His fingers walked up his chest, before gliding down again, sliding around Dean’s waistband. His eyes stared into Dean’s, blown wide, openly hungry now.

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He could feel himself responding, his hips shifting, his breath quickening. He wondered if it was whatever Sam had done to him, or if it was just him, releasing years of tension and doubt and self-hatred, because finally—finally—Sam was doing something. Sam was initiating it, so it was okay. It was okay. It had to be okay.

“Vampires mate for life, you know.” Chilled breath, ghosting against his neck now. Sam’s mouth still hadn’t touched him, even when he ducked down to nose at Dean’s jugular.

“And vampires live forever.”

He turned back now, so Dean could see his lips, flushed red in a white background. When Sam spoke, he could make out the glint of teeth.

Flat, human. Clean.

Then Sam kissed him.

Suddenly, Dean could move again. It felt like heat was being poured into him, like drinking hot chocolate, cup after cup, filling him up and drawing the cold away; he scrambled backwards, before remembering that he was against a wall and had nowhere to go.

“F—Sam! Sam!” He tried to turn away—fuck, he’d had a machete, but what—something, something had happened, and—Sam. Sam’s mouth. Sam’s mouth.

The heat was building, higher and higher, and it felt like burning, like the heat had nowhere to go, and fuck, Dean was suddenly rock-hard despite the cold and dark and Sammy grinding in his lap, his fucking brother, his goddamn baby brother, and he couldn’t push him off.

“Please. Dean, please.” Sam was pleading. Fuck, Sam was pleading, and Dean, he was helpless against it, always had been, even when they were kids and Sam had begged to sleep with him in his bed, had curled up close beside him until their father had become unnerved when Sam was twelve and separated them. “Let me. Please let me.”

So Dean let him.

He opened up to Sam, and immediately, Sam’s tongue pushed in, moved as if frantic for a taste. Sam’s mouth was all hot, desperate, ragged and fierce; he pushed closer with each unsteady breath, each violent nip of teeth.

Dean couldn’t help it. His own hands, manacled, came up to clutch at Sam’s shoulders; one, unable to find a grip in Sam’s coat, reached to bury itself into Sam’s hair. A harsh sound escaped from him as he bucked up to rub against his brother, because he couldn’t, couldn’t deny it anymore. Sam would always be his brother.

Wrong, it was wrong. But it felt like everything he’d never known he was waiting for.

Sam’s hands crept to Dean’s fly, unzipped it, found his cock and pulled it out.

“Dean. Dean.”

Sam panted his name, over and over, as he began stripping Dean’s cock. Contrary to his kissing, Sam’s pulls were slow, steady, teasing. Strong. His hands were cold, but Dean was so hot that it felt like relief.

He was ready to scream when Sam took him in hand again, but didn’t move. It took him a few seconds to realize that Sam was hissing in his ear again.

“You wanna, Dean? Do you? Please tell me you do. Please.”

“Sam.”

Fuck, Sam’s eyes. At this point, Dean was so far fucking gone that he was ready to agree to anything.

“Y-yeah. What—Whatever you want, Sam. Just fucking touch me.” The last words came out a snarl, and suddenly, Sam was happy, grinning, laughing like Dean hadn’t seen him laugh in fucking years.

When he stopped, his eyes were lustful. Hungry. “Yeah, Dean. Yeah.”

Then he was yanking off his coat, pushing his own jeans down, and sliding his cock along Dean’s own, and fuck. Dean threw his head back, banging it against the wall.

“So good, Dean.” Sam’s nose was buried against his neck, breathing him in, and Dean had no choice but to turn his head to the side, letting Sam have his fill. Sam’s hand was still behind his neck, the other with both their cocks in hand, and they were slip-sliding together, their precome slicking the way, and Sam was hot-and-cold at once and it was like no words and no tomorrows and no forevers, just now.

It was building. Dean could feel it at the base of his spine, at the back of his throat through his choked moans, through Sam’s desperate pants and whimpers at his neck. He felt like it had been building forever, through their teens and before Stanford and after Stanford and now. Building through sleepless nights, through deaths and monsters and ultimatums, through the never-come-backs and can’t-live-without-yous, through the pain and the terror and the vicious codependence that they’d tried so hard to tamp down. All of it, culminating to now and always and never-letting-go.

Dean came as Sam bit down.


End file.
